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Roman stiffens, as if he's bracing himself against the door. She wonders if the child lock is on.
"I'm, fucking-" he says, swallowing around his words. She waits for him to say more, something biting or bitter, but he doesn't say anything.
"Mad the president won't be your new daddy?" She says, a blunt edge to her words. A bit colder than she'd intended. Roman isn't looking at her as she says it.
It cools the air immediately. She wishes she regretted saying it, it'd be easier that way.
It's as if she watches it in slow-motion. His face crumples in a few pieces; his lip quivers, and he ducks his chin down to his chest. He balls a hand up, then puts it to his split lip. His brows furrow in, and theres a sunken quality to him. He mewls, like a little kid. A baby. She's only ever seen him cry today, and as a child. Well- as a young teenager. Roman cried into high school, but he was always so gummy and thin, he never looked like a grown man until he hit his late 20s. He looks like a kicked puppy. -
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